


how to embrace a swamp creature

by technofinch (SnailArmy)



Category: Chikara (Professional Wrestling), Professional Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, M/M, Not RPF, Songfic, Unrequited Crush, he/it swamp monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28421724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnailArmy/pseuds/technofinch
Summary: The Swamp Monster contemplates what it means to be in the Gentleman's Club, and pays a certain someone a visit.Based on the song by the Mountain Goats.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Swamp Monster
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	how to embrace a swamp creature

**Author's Note:**

> what's up! i have brainworms for a ghillie suit!
> 
> have you seen all the times swampy carried orange in his arms and also that time he literally took a bullet for him? because i have and i have thoughts about it!!!
> 
> the swamp monster uses both he/him and it/its pronouns in this and also i don't capitalize swamp monster because that's not a name it's a species. also also this is about the characters portrayed in matches and promotional material, and not about the real people who portray them. don't be a fucking creep.

The Gentleman's Club. So much meaning in those three words. 

The sun was setting, and strangled beams of light fell between the buildings, illuminating a piecemeal pathway as the swamp monster made his way down the sidewalk. His gaze was fixed on a sixth floor window, at this distance indistinguishable from an early star. What few pedestrians were still about either took no notice of his semi-vegetative mass, or carefully avoided it. To his credit, he was entirely consumed by his own thoughts. 

The Gentleman's Club. The first thing to come to mind was, of course, a club for gentlemen. The kind of exclusive place where fancy boys went to smoke cigars and drink the expensive booze. None of them smoked (cigars, at least), and certainly none of them drank anything better than low-to-middling shelf liquor. 

A man on the phone walked past the swamp monster; he was carrying a bouquet of flowers. Not the delicate lobelia and orchids of the Everglades, but full of carnations and alstroemeria. He was telling someone about how much he loved someone. 

So it wasn't a club of gentlemen. The apostrophe was, then, possessive. Gentleman's Club; the club belonging to the Kentucky Gentleman himself, Chuck Taylor. A group of people-and-others brought together because Chuck didn't want to face the world alone. 

The swamp monster came to a crosswalk. Inexplicably, there were no cars at the intersection, but still it waited for the tiny man to light up before it walked across. It looked both ways, as its mother had taught it, but once safely returned to the sidewalk it found its gaze fixed once more on the window. The light flickered slightly and it fancied that it could see someone watching from the window. It resisted the urge to wave. 

Yes, they were a group, but there were other definitions of club. A sandwich. A suit of cards. A weapon. 

There wasn't really any common purpose that brought the Gentleman's Club together, besides the fact that Chuck kept them around. Maybe they were merely a blunt instrument, held by a scared young man for the purpose of beating down his enemies. Chuck did have a lot of enemies. 

All too soon the swamp monster found himself at the door of the building, and after a moment of hesitation he let himself in. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he walked to the elevator and pressed the up arrow. From somewhere far above he could hear machinery whir to life. 

The swamp monster didn't hate Chuck. Not the way that Chuck hated him. Chuck was... fine. The Dr. Colonel, Drew, even Orange, they were all nice enough. Never _kind_ , per say. They'd rather be caught dead than be called _caring_. But they looked out for each other, they laughed and joked like friends. 

The bell dinged, the elevator doors opened, the swamp monster stepped inside. It pressed the button with the number six, and the doors closed. 

The mean spirited words still hurt. Almost as much as the bumps. It would be so easy to fight back for once in its life, to force Chuck Taylor to give it the respect that it deserved. It would be even easier to just leave. Catch the first plane back to Florida and become a cheese maker like its mother wanted. Leave the ring and its fellow gentlemen in the past. 

Another ding, the doors opening this time to reveal a standard apartment building hallway. From one door came loud music and laughter, bleeding through the thin and dingy walls. The swamp monster passed that door and stopped in front of room 611, which was silent. Before it could second guess itself, it knocked. 

Why _didn't_ he leave? Looking back, the swamp monster had a hard time rationalizing it. Getting yelled at and bossed around was hardly what he wanted out of his professional wrestling career, much less his friendships. Maybe he was stupid to have stayed this long.

Then the door opened. Standing behind it was Orange Cassidy, one hand still in the pocket of his jeans. "Hey Swampy." He smiled when he said it, just slightly. No one smiled when they saw the swamp monster. 

Orange moved out of the doorway, straight for the couch, and the swamp monster stepped inside. The air in the apartment was warm, hot even, and dry in a way that the swamp never was. Orange had already sat down and thrown his feet over the cushion next to him, looking over at the swamp monster behind the aviators that he wore even in his own home. The swamp monster looked around, but did not move further. 

"Nah, you're good, Chuck isn't home right now. Won't be back til late." Orange punctuated the statement with an overly suggestive eyebrow waggle directed at nothing in particular and that was far more information than the swamp monster needed. 

Rather than join him on the couch, the swamp monster made a beeline to the bathroom. It was small and as dirty as you'd expect, but the mirror was clean enough. Heaven forbid Chuck be unable to look upon his own gorgeous visage each morning. 

Turning on the faucet helped. Eventually, the steam rose, slowly covering the mirror in condensation and obscuring the swamp monster's reflection. Chuck would be pissed about the water bill if he knew, but Chuck wasn't here, so fuck him. The swamp monster wasn't here for him. Stable be damned, it had never been the Gentleman's and it would never be a club. 

Orange was waiting for it outside. It turned off the faucet. 

He wasn't on the couch when the swamp monster opened the door, and it experienced a moment of panic before hearing the microwave beep from the kitchen. Orange was in there, heating something in a cardboard sleeve and drinking something out of a dark bottle. 

He looked like he was almost done, so the swamp monster went directly to the couch, sitting carefully across from where Orange had been earlier. The television was playing some action movie or another, and he watched as the grizzled, gun-toting hero made out with a tiny blonde woman. They seemed to fit together perfectly, her waist neatly sandwiched between his hands. 

Out of nowhere, Orange leapt onto the couch, hot pocket still in hand and spilling beer everywhere. "What'd I miss?" He asked in an exaggerated stage whisper, dropping his head into the swamp monster's lap and taking a bite of his hot pocket. 

The swamp monster just shrugged, which was apparently a good enough answer for Orange. He settled in, and the swamp monster laid a peaty hand across his shoulder as the credits began to roll. 

Okay, yeah. Maybe the swamp monster knew exactly why he stayed with the Gentleman's Club. Did it matter that Orange didn't know? Did he care that he would never feel the same? Maybe. But no one had stopped it the first time it carried Orange out of the ring after a bad loss, or the second, or the third. It's not like anyone else was about to volunteer to do it. And if it took some small pleasure in the way Orange leaned on it when he was too drunk to stand on his own, well, no one had to know. 

It wasn't going to last forever. Chuck was going to get fed up with him someday and that would be it. The swamp monster would go back home to the Everglades, head bowed in shame, or, hell, maybe Chuck would go through with his threats of actual literal murder and he'd end up stuffed in the trunk of his car or something. Would Orange even notice that he was gone? 

But the next installment in the movie marathon had started, and Orange was laying across its lap complaining about the lack of special effects, and his breath smelled like beer and shitty pizza and the swamp monster loved him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it would be enough to keep him safe even when it wasn't around any more. Maybe it was enough to make it all worth it. 

Eventually Orange fell asleep, head still resting in his lap. Carefully, ever so carefully, the swamp monster lifted his head and extricated himself from the couch. Chuck would be home soon, and he could make sure Orange got to bed properly. The swamp monster didn't want to be around when that happened. He did pick up the empty bottles and other detritus, leaving it beside the overflowing trash can before stepping quietly out the door. 

By now it was fully dark. The elevator ride down passed uneventfully, and soon the swamp monster was faced with the cold city night. There were no stars visible in the sky, just the streetlamps reflecting on the pavement, giving the impression that the cosmos had been turned upside down. Somewhere inside, the swamp monster couldn't help but feel that something else was upside down, was wrong inside of him. Maybe he shouldn't have come here. He was a swamp monster, after all; his place was the swamp. 

Then it thought of Orange again, and whatever had been upside down inside of it clicked into place like a revolver chambering a round. Maybe, at one point, it had belonged in the swamp. But right now, the only place it needed to be was at Orange Cassidy's side. And if that meant being in the Gentleman's Club, it could deal with that. 

It could deal with that just fine.


End file.
